Splinters
by saketini
Summary: Modern canonverse. While on a goodwill trip through Spain to boost tourism, the current state of affairs hit a breaking point with a splinter and some gin. USUK/UKUS.
1. Chapter 1

_Gray in America but grey in England ~_

* * *

"Let's try this again, _Bienvenidos a Madrid!_"

"We've been here since yesterday, _Spanien._"

"Monday doesn't count since you puked on the host last night. I called for a redo."

"I did? You did?"

England pushed his borrowed aviators further up his nose to keep himself from reacting.

"_I don't care if Monday's blue, Tuesday's grey and Wednesday too..._" America sang under his breath to his right. Softly for a change.

"You had better not still be drunk."

"Haha, be nice old man, or I'm taking those Ray Bans back."

The younger was wearing a pair of matching sunglasses, having swapped them out for his trademark Texas. England silently admired the crinkled corner of his eyes that peeked out the sides of the frames with his grin, secure in the knowledge that the other would not be able to see his own eyes through the reflective lenses. Tuesday was turning out to be neither grey nor gray, but a classic example of the Spanish sun so many vacationers liked to enjoy. Unfortunately for the five gathered under the supervision of their various handlers and Spanish representatives, gray skies probably would have been better for their hangover induced migraines.

The group of them had come to Madrid at the behest of Spain and were now standing by the cars in front of their hotel. The extra tourism dollars and apparent goodwill that might trickle down to their people was something their host could use to "stimulate his economy," a now cliched innuendo that was unfortunately never lost on the present company. They had arrived for their week-long goodwill trip the previous afternoon and had agreed to dinner at a local restaurant. From there, they had drunk heavily and regrettably.

"They're quite lovely on you, _Angleterre_, cover the travesty above your..." France squinted at him, having refused the sunglasses himself as they had apparently clashed with his suit.

"Fuck off. That joke was never amusing and repeating it for ten bloody centuries hasn't made it any better."

_At least I'm not going to walk into a tree because I'm pretending I can see out here like a fool,_ he silently added.

France had chosen to ignore him in favor of wagging his own eyebrows in the direction of America. Sadly for him, America had returned to his default of ignoring anything that wasn't himself or edible, and was contemplating his broad palm with the intensity of a side street psychic. England pushed the frames up further.

"We're already late to the meeting point," Spain interjected. "I had originally planned for France and myself to be in the first car on our way to the palace while America, England and Prussia would be in the second-"

"Why the fuck am I last?"

"But our _Prusia_ seems to need supervision. _Francia_, sit wherever you want. Prussia and I are going in the second and those two are going in the first. I believe our assistants are going to be traveling separately? _Sí._ Then I will call if we need you for some reason but we _should _manage to arrive safely on our own."

At that, Spain latched his hand around Prussia's arm and dragged him towards the second hired car.

"'Kay~" America sang before he walked towards the first limousine, head tilted down towards his shiny-gold-something-phone and texting rapidly. England continued his stealth ogling and watched as the other's assistant said something close to his ear before she turned and gave England a friendly wink and joined her colleagues. He smelled France's cologne as he leaned in close to mutter in his ear.

"Seducing them left and right, _Angleterre_."

"She always does that to say 'hello,' she's just being American," he pushed the other's face away with his palm.

"Exactly."

"I know what you're implying, Frog, but I don't have the patience for it today. You know she's married and visibly pregnant. Both of our people are invited to that baby shower her friend is organizing."

"I'm not implying _an_ American."

"Honestly..." England stocked off towards America as the younger ducked into the open door and disappeared in his quest to find a hangover cure in the minibar.

"If you know what I'm implying," France began behind him, causing England to slow his pace, "why don't you finally say something?"

"That's hardly any concern of yours."

"Ah my but friend, it's well established that matters of the heart are my specialty!"

"I'd say surrendering is a more well-established specialty of yours."

France tisked and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind his ear but chose to avoid the bait and continued.

"I don't know why I bother trying to do you favors with an attitude like that but frankly, the tension between you two is painful to watch. You must know we all talk about it."

"You lot just have nothing better to gossip about. What about all that time he spends with Japan lately?" he pulled off the glasses to fix France with a full glare. "Things are fine the way they are so kindly _fuck off_."

"Would you rather we gossip about him and Japan so that I can report back to you? I may not be a part of your little Anglo spy group but it might be amusing."

"That isn't at all what I am saying," he ducked his head to hide the angry blush that he could feel blooming.

"Well the status quo is hardly doing your right hand any favors."

"_Fr-_" England clenched his fist in preparation to swing before the other blithely continued.

"Now might be a good opportunity, is all. We're technically working but the whole point of our trip here is to have a nice time so that we can return home and encourage tourism for our darling _Espagne_, _non?"_

Either France had missed his body language entirely or he was choosing to ignore it as he slid an arm around England's waist.

"Neither of your bosses are here. So have a nice time, _une soirée romantic_~"

"Francy pants! You riding with us?"

America had popped his head out through the roof window to shout in their direction, waving his arms above his head for extra measure. All shiny grin and shiny hair and shiny phone in the sun. _Lovely golden fool. _

"Perhaps," France replied happily as he took a step back and out of range of England's jabbing elbow. "I don't know if big brother fits in the club without the matching glasses though."

"Sorry! Only brought one spare. I'd tell you to fight for 'em but I think you two would."

Choosing to use the distraction to avoid France's pestering, England resumed his march towards the car. He managed to get his head in the door before he heard a shout from above and felt France shove him from behind, leaving him a sputtering mess face down on the rough carpeted floor.

"_Bonne chance,_ _Angleterre!" _

England jerked his face up and was greeted by America's panicked expression, hands frozen just above his shoulders in his compulsive need to help but a hesitancy to touch. The younger had apparently tumbled from his perch in his urgency and was wedged into the small legroom space on his knees. In seeing England was relatively alright, he rolled back onto his feet and tucked the sunglasses into the front of his shirt, resting his forearms on his knees.

"Should I chase after him or were you two in the middle of something?" America cocked his head to the side and smiled one of his strange grins that didn't reach his eyes.

Seeing the other wasn't about to offer his help, England pushed himself fully off the ground and rocked back to sit on the floor facing him. He resisted the urge to rub at his temples in response to his now pounding headache.

"Never you mind, I'll return the favor to him later," he kicked lightly at the boy's shoe to watch his false grin soften. "Anything worth mentioning in the minibar?"

"No," the grin relaxed fully into a small smile.

A sharp knock on the window between them and the driver made them turn their heads in unison.

"_Palacio Real _is first. If you two could sit in the seats?"

"Sure thing! Sorry!"

England felt himself tugged up by an American hand under his arm, before snatching himself free and sitting on the seat opposite. The driver nodded once before rolling the window back up and pulling out of the hotel entrance. America braced his foot on England's seat, knocking it gently against his knee.

"I think we just got lectured by the driver."

"Well it's hardly my fault everyone seems to want to toss me around like a piece of luggage today," he rapped at the offending foot with his knuckles. _Move this, idiot. Too close. Too much. _

"I was being helpful!"

"Of course."

America huffed and pulled his foot back to tuck it under himself, looking at his palm again before fussing once more with his phone. Deciding lecturing him for putting his shoes on the leather would most likely only worsen his headache, England instead crossed his arms and looked at the now closed window to avoid seeing the younger's pout. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the phone flashing as the sunlight reflected off of its well-polished surface. Yes, things were _fine._

_Nice time my arse._

He pulled out his own phone when he felt it buzzing in his pocket from a text, pushing the sunglasses on top of his head to better view the screen.

"_Why is my brother asking me about splinters?_" from Canada.

He frowned, "_No idea._"

He glanced up while the phone indicated Canada was typing a response. America was mirroring his stance, frowning at his own phone.

"_He's being stupid and won't tell me what's going on. Are you with him?_"

He began to type "_yes_" before he paused, realizing that would then mean he would have to ask America directly. While deliberating between simply saying no or finding a way to ask the other without outing Canada as the instigator, his phone buzzed again.

"_Fr says you are in a car with him and he got in a fight last night?_"

He jammed the phone back into his pocket and turned to the bar area, grabbing a bottled water. It really hadn't been much of a fight, if it even could be considered one. They had all been drinking, France had been bear baiting, and America had snapped. The only one who had actually thought it was a fight was Prussia, who had lunged under the table after emptying his stomach and being lectured by Spain. England didn't care to dwell to much on _what_ had caused America to snap, fearing he would allow himself to walk down a path he really shouldn't be traveling.

_That fool is just possessive in general and worse when he's drunk. NATO's proof of that._

England slid the glasses back down onto his face, preferring the dim lighting with his headache. America was still texting across from him, biting his lower lip and resting his left hand gingerly palm up on his leg. England ignored his phone as it buzzed once more in his pocket and leaned his head back against the top of the seat to stare at the ceiling.

"Um," America mumbled, "you okay?"

"Just fine, love."

America laughed in his loud way that he did whenever he was embarrassed by an endearment and England allowed himself the small victory. He looked up when he felt the car stop, sliding down to the door to let himself out rather than wait for the driver. America trailed after him, eyes back on his phone.

"Weren't we here in like...2004? For that wedding?" his voice taking on a Southern California lilt with each question.

Spain walked up to them, again dragging Prussia in his wake. France trailed behind laughing at a joke they had missed.

"The wedding banquet was here in the central courtyard for Prince Felipe," he smiled. "Ready for the tour? I know you've all been here before but it should be nice. They've closed off the armory to the public today so we were going to take press photos there."

"You're weirdly organized today, _Spanien," _Prussia felt the need to add._ "_Is it because your Italian isn't here?"

"No, it's because this is _important_," his hold on Prussia's arm visibly tightening, "Let's get going then."

* * *

_It seems that most USUK/UKUS fics have them meeting and interacting in their respective countries. As much as I love both places, I feel it is always a bit unfair to the visitor to have the other operating on his home turf, and thought it would be a fun change to see them both away from home and from their respective distractions for a bit. _

"little Anglo spy group" - wiki/UKUSA_Agreement

"NATO's proof of that" - _Cold War reference. Wanna talk about __Domino Theory__? I'll never shut up about it, don't ask me about it. But the USSR had the Warsaw Pact and us Americans had/have NATO. For a while there we were collecting other countries in our clubs like Pokemon cards on playgrounds in the 90s. _


	2. Chapter 2

_Accent kink? What accent kink?_

* * *

Four hours, countless handshakes, and a blinding number of photos later, they were freed to wander by themselves throughout the gardens. Deciding photos in the armory weren't enough, Spain had also taken them through the Royal Palace of Madrid's throne room, pharmacy, and expansive royal library where England had to listen to Prussia and America giggling to themselves in the back among the gold Rococo bindings.

_"What's with you guys and sticking gold on everything?"_

_"What's with you and _frying _everything?"_

Sunglasses back on his face, England had wandered down the main path of the Campo del Moro Gardens in search of a bin for his long empty water bottle. He had abandoned France early on near a group of peacocks. America had trailed after him, however, eyes back on his phone and stumbling periodically over his own shoes. He allowed the other to follow rather than try to leave him behind, _it's really only that it would be too much trouble to find him again if he got lost_, leading him to a quieter pond with a bench in the shade. America slung his suit jacket over the back of the bench and plunked himself down on England's right, sighing loudly.

"You didn't have to follow me if you knew you were going to be bored. You could have stayed with France and the peacocks."

"Haha, nah," America bumped his shoulder lightly with his own, still not looking up. "I'm hungry."

"I don't have anything."

"Jerk," he bumped his shoulder again, smiling even though he was still focused on his written conversation. His hand was resting palm up on his thigh again and England silently chastised himself for noticing the skin was more pink than usual.

"Spain made us leave so early we didn't really eat much breakfast," America rambled on. "I just had coffee and those sweet roll thingamajigs. Doesn't he usually like breaks and meals and things? I thought he was laid back? When's lunch?"

"He said this is important. I wouldn't question it."

"I thought this was supposed to be _fun_."

He was biting at his lower lip with a pout that had the uncanny ability to get England to go along with his whims.

_I'll bet we can get churros or something somewhere close by. This is a main tourist area._

England dug his nails into his own palm to distract himself from that train of thought.

America's phone buzzed again and he refocused on his one-handed typing, his own sunglasses still tucked into the front of his unbuttoned shirt. The sun that worked its way through the leaves was casting shadows from his eyelashes onto his cheeks while his eyes flickered back and forth. Irritated by himself as much as the other, England lightly smacked his empty bottle against America's upturned hand, causing the younger to yelp and cradle it protectively to his chest. The gold phone fell to the grass below with a dull thud and was joined shortly by the empty bottle.

"Who have you been texting all day?"

"...Canada?"

"It's rude."

"I know," he was still working at his lower lip with his teeth. "But France was dumb and he's doing something dumb."

"...you're going to have to be more specific."

"Canada says France said I got in a fight but France says he didn't say that," his cheeks were red and words rushed with irritation. "I didn't get in a fight. Canada said he doesn't believe me because he thinks I'm always starting fights. I'm not always starting fights."

England eyed the way the other was still holding onto his hand while he repeated the outburst in his head a few times to process it.

"It wasn't a fight but I doubt Spain and your assistant had much fun explaining to the restaurant owner what you had done to his furniture in the middle of your shouting match with France."

"...I said I'd buy them a new one," he rolled his eyes. "It was France's fault. The table just got in the way... He should be the one apologizing, you know? What was he talking to you about earlier anyway?"

"Earlier?"

"When he was gr...groping you by the car before we left. He um..." he looked at his phone on the ground as he finally trailed off. It had buzzed again. "He had his arm around you."

England didn't know if he should smile at the reaction or grumble at the implications.

"That was hardly groping by his standards and I don't remember. I might as well ask you what your assistant was mumbling in your ear before that."

America muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "_whatever_" and began looking at his palm once more. Seeing as they were alone, England decided to take the chance and flicked his finger against the other's knee.

"Why on Earth do you keep looking at your hand like that?"

"...I think I have a splinter. From last night, I mean. I didn't really mean to break the table when I hit my hand against it, I was just annoyed, but it was wood and all..."

_Ah._

"Canada wouldn't help? You've probably been keeping him up at weird hours with your texting."

"That dick was texting you too, wasn't he? I knew it!"

"He was concerned," he laughed softly under his breath and patted at the other's knee in apology. "It's no small wonder when you go around smashing dining tables when France gets... Oh, just give it here."

"Smashing. Give it here," America rolled the words out in an intentionally bad imitation of his accent but complied. "She was telling me to ask you."

"What?"

"My PA. You were asking in your funny stuffy way," he was smiling again but this time it was accompanied by a rosy blush. "That's what she was saying before we left. She told me to ask you if you had anything to get it out."

_That explains the ridiculous wink._

"She assumed I carried a first aid kit around for you?"

"No, a sewing kit."

"Ah..." England began to fuss in his pocket with his own free hand, "I may. It's useful for loose buttons and such. Not that I was expecting your suit to have any loose buttons. Or mine for that matter. It's just convenient. This would be better though," he pulled out his keys with the attached swiss army knife, jingling them lightly for emphasis.

"I gave you that! For your birthday!"

"How fortuitous. Hold still now, love."

America laughed again at the endearment as England leaned in close and inspected the other's hand. Towards the base of his thumb was indeed a splinter, the area around it red from the boy's earlier attention.

_I wonder if Boots has a first aid kit small enough I can tuck in my wallet just in case. _

"What happened to yours," he looked up to see America was again looking away, "You had a matching one?"

"Just left it at home. It wouldn't've made it through security and I didn't trust it not to get taken out of my luggage. I like us matching too much to let it get lost."

England felt an odd twinge in his stomach and swallowed firmly. _Matching. _His mind lingering on the way America's accent tugged at the "a" while his throat swallowed around the "g" and held it. The younger's lower lip was still in between his teeth, shiny and pink from the attention. _Lovely._

He crossed his legs and cleared his throat, assuming rightly America would continue with his nervous ramble while he worked.

"It's convenient you know. When I need something you just whip it out of one of your pockets."

"...um?"

"Like the ice cream! Or the chocolate. I guess it's mostly food...haha. But not this time, I guess? I mean not the food since I was hungry...Hey, do you want to get churros together or something? We can dip them in hot chocolate."

England allowed himself to look up and saw the blush had gone from rosy to cherry as America tucked a stray piece of hair behind his ear with his free hand. He focused back down at the hand he was holding before the other could see his own pinked face.

England was thinking about America eating churros.

"I suppose," he muttered noncommittally.

He flicked out the tweezer attachment with his thumb and willed himself not to notice the broadness of the hand he was holding.

"You should have just told Spain or one of his people you needed help. It would have been easier for them and they would have been able to clean it properly."

"...I didn't want to."

"Hm?"

"I mean, Spain's scary when he snaps, you know that and his eye was doing that twitchy thing. I don't know if it's because Romano isn't here or because this is a big deal but it was freaking me out. Besides, it's embarrassing to ask..."

"Hm."

_Would you have told him if he had asked like I did?_

America's hand was warm and surprisingly dry but England noted that he must have been fiddling with one of his projects again. Calluses had reappeared from him holding his tools without gloves.

_Likely your planes, you always run to them when you're stuck on something. If I asked you, dearest, would you tell me what was bothering you?_

England pushed the sunglasses back on top of his head with the hand not holding America's, the keys clacking against the frames.

"Don't fuss with it so much next time, foolish boy. You'll only make it worse. We should really be doing this in a place where we can wash your hands properly..."

"I know... Hey, one time when I was drinking with Japan and Prussia, Prussia said you could get splinters out with a potato."

"That's nice, love."

England was thinking about churros again. About America eating churros. About licking the sugar and chocolate off the corner of America's mouth as he ate churros dipped in hot chocolate. About the way his accent was swallowing the final "g" on his words deep in his throat and the calluses on his warm dry hands as he worked on his planes.

England was thinking about America's lower lip, still shiny and pink from his pretty white teeth.

_Have a nice time, France says._

He felt warm and thought something needed to pop in him or in the atmosphere or in America but it was hot and there was too much pressure and the sunglasses were about to fall off of his head and he couldn't stop staring at America's pink lower lip and thinking about how he wanted to make the other just as swollen and flushed with his own lips and teeth and tongue.

The splinter was too large to have easily come out on its own but still too small for the other to have been able to pull it out with his hands. It looked like he had cut his nails shorter than usual. Probably to make it easier when he was working on his planes. He slid the sharp metal of the tweezers under the exposed edge and pinched, pulling slowly so as to not break it under the skin. England sighed softly in satisfaction when it came away cleanly and flicked it away towards the ground to join the phone and the bottle.

"There, much better."

_It's still pink. It would be better if I could cover it with something. _

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the other's palm before pulling back and smoothing at the area with his thumb.

The phone on the ground buzzed again, rattling against the empty bottle. The most recent text from Canada flashed at the top, catching England's eye.

_"Grosssss...I don't want to think about you two making out."_

Something popped in his stomach and England realized America had stopped rambling but hadn't removed his hand.

_Fuck._

"...don't," he swallowed dryly as the sounds felt gummed up in his throat. "How would you get a splinter out with a potato?"

_"You two?" Who is the other? Is it - No, don't. Don't do that. We hardly spend time together lately. He's been with - _

"Japan?" fell out before he could catch it.

"What?"

"...did Japan know? You said you were drinking with the two of them."

"Oh, haha...I don't know. He was already all red. Just gave Prussia a look."

England was still holding America's hand and wouldn't look up. Couldn't look up. It was still too warm and it had popped but it hadn't fixed anything, only made things worse. The fountain was too loud as the water fell into the pool and he could hear France talking to himself and Prussia and the peacocks in the distance and he was still thinking about America eating churros and chocolate.

Above him America mumbled something too soft for him to hear.

"I'm sorry?"

He finally looked up and saw the boy's head was still down, focused on his hand in England's with his blue eyes hidden behind his bangs. The red flush had bled down to his throat and could be seen peeking out from his unbuttoned collar.

"...I said thank you, England."

He twitched and the already sliding sunglasses fell back down into place, the nose piece banging painfully against his face.

"Fuck!"

He pulled his hands back violently to rub at his nose and bent his face down, sending his keys flying in the process. America's own hands came back in his panicked hovering, fluttering over England's shoulders.

"Shit! I'm sorry! Those are probably loose because they're stretched out for my face. Are you okay?"

England swallowed firmly again to trap a nervous giggle before it popped out and waved the other away.

"Yes, yes. It was my fault."

"Ah...um...okay."

America bent over, still hiding his face, to retrieve their items from the ground. As he handed England his keys, he was painfully obvious in his avoidance of brushing fingers, choosing to drop the keys into England's upturned palm from an awkwardly high distance. England felt as if a hole had fallen into his stomach as he watched him slide the phone with its unanswered text and stand.

"Maybe instead of churros, we should find Spain and see if he had plans for lunch. You always say I should eat better."

"Ah, quite."

He stood, nodding slightly to himself and still rubbing his nose. As he followed behind the other he forced himself to think about anything but chocolate.

... ... ... ... ... ...

Apparently Spain had planned for them to eat tapas but had forgotten them in his picture taking zeal.

_"Tomorrow, I promise! _Gambas al Ajillo_ are perfect this time of year!"_

Instead, as it was almost two they elected to head straight to lunch at a local restaurant that apparently had not yet been discovered by tourists. Fresh vegetable soup, roast lamb and a green garden salad were followed by flan, sliced fruit and ice cream.

The gold phone was dancing once again in America's hand.

England skipped the proffered espresso in favor of drinking more wine and convincing himself that churros and pretty blonds simply weren't worth the trouble.

* * *

_The potato thing works. You slice them, put the damp bit down on your skin and hold it there. If the splinter is small enough it will pop out after a while. You know, if you have a potato lying around or whatever. _

_Random, but I can imagine England walking into a Boots in London and looking specifically for Captain America bandaids for his dorky ass boyfriend and sputtering when the cashier takes too long to ring them up. Then he sputters some more when America is surprised and happy when he finds them. Cutie tsun tsun baby. _

_I'm having fun writing the next chapter ~_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you so much to everyone on ao3 and ffn who has commented, favorited, or simply read this or any of my other fics. You all are truly lovely and I apologize for the delay in updates while I was on vacation. Thank you all!_

_Yes, let's let these fools drink more._

* * *

America couldn't decide if the seat they were sitting on was plastic or leather. It was too shiny, but frankly the cover they paid to get in made anything but leather an insult. The club was enjoyable enough. While the aforementioned sofa had that unpleasant ability to cling to any warmed skin it managed to touch, the drinks weren't _too _watered down by club standards and the music was good enough if not a little...

"Loud. Too bloody loud," complained a familiar voice to his left.

"I like it," chirped America in equally familiar disagreement, earning what was likely a sigh judging by the eye roll and shoulder tilt, although he couldn't hear it over the music. He hid his cheeky Hollywood grin behind his glass as he drained the last of his Old Fashioned.

Across the room, Prussia leaned against the bar, delightedly flashing the credit card of his absent brother. A pair of brunettes laughed loudly at his jokes and brushed pretty fingers against his upper arms when he leaned in close to shout above the din.

Their host was towards the back of the dance floor, chattering happily with a few of his people. France swayed to the music and studied the fit of Spain's pants from his position deeper in the dance floor, a fancy bubbly drink occasionally making its way up to his mouth.

"Did you want another?" America raised his voice and rattled the ice in his empty glass in the direction of England's equally empty tumbler on the table to emphasize his point.

"Another Gin and Tonic if you're offering to pay."

"Nah, but I hear Germany is."

"Well enough for me then," and he pressed the condensation slicked glass into America's hand.

America liked clubs. From the slightly tacky tourist kinds with (what he'd decided were) plastic seats, to the 40 Euro a cover, probably slightly illegal, kind in rusted out warehouses. Clubs were people watching at its best. Young, attractive people behind the bar tucked hard earned bills into their tills and swiped cold plastic for open tabs. University students and young professionals preened at their finest and danced a little too close to the members of the sex of their choice, while the slightly older and paired off brushed hips in corners and pressed lustful lips against willing ears.

"I'm putting this on your tab," he slapped a friendly palm against Prussia's shoulder at the bar while offering a sunny smile to the pair that had chosen to accompany him.

"Awesome. Not my money anyway," the man leaned in to hiss in the blond's ear. "Fuck if I know their names but they like their drinks strong and don't speak a word of German," and cackled happily as turned back to the women beside him.

America waved at the bartender, signaling with his empty glasses that he wanted more of the same and that Prussia was paying. A pair of well-manicured hands rubbed at his shoulders as he waited at the bar announcing France's departure from _derrière_ watching.

"Seeing the tension between these two does nothing but give big brother wrinkles."

"I don't want to think about the tension you were watching on Spain, dude," _shut up, France. _

"Rude! I would say you were raised better but I know otherwise," the Frenchman exclaimed, hitting him chidingly in the back of the head. Prussia laughed loudly, apparently watching out of the corner of his eye.

"Allow big brother to offer you some advice, _Amérique._.."

"Big brother is drunk, no thank you," his grin tightened as he attempted to make eye contact with the bartender and signal his desperation to avoid the unfortunately very familiar conversation that was about to begin.

"Our darling, _Angleterre_, is not the type to make the first move."

"Can we not do this here?"

"I would hesitate to call him delicate..."

"Seriously, let's not do this here."

"Delicate? My ass that fucker is delicate! Where's Spain? He'll talk about his armada again. He always wants to talk about his armada."

America's teeth were starting to feel dry from the prolonged grinning.

"I really don't want to talk about this right now."

"_Spanien! _ Get your ass over here! Tell us about your armada again!"

"Can I just have water? If that's faster. I really don't care. _Agua? _Please? Just hurry up. No, not the gin, that has to be gin. Fuck. Never mind, I need the bourbon. _No agua._ Bourbon. Fuck."

"You're talking like that weird gray fucker that follows you around!"

"You should have seen his hair when he grew it out! It was tragic. Pathetic yet endearing? How would you say...? Oh! He was asking me something earlier. Something about a text?"

America grabbed at the two glasses that slid across the bar towards him and blatantly dogged his way out of the conversation and back to his seat on the sofa. Plastic really wasn't that bad. Easy to clean and all, very sanitary. He slammed himself back into place.

"...alright?"

"Uh..." an intelligent pause, "France was being France, haha," the laugh spoken more than it was performed.

"Right. Good. My gin?"

"Uh..." _again! Real smooth. Keep going. Doing great. Nothing like forgetting a man's language to get his attention. _

"It's likely the clear beverage in your left hand, if you would be so kind."

"Sure! haha..."

The trip was winding down on day three of projected seven. Germany had also been slated to attend but bowed out at the last minute citing scheduling errors. Knowing the man's scheduling skills, it was more likely that he had simply ditched to spend more time eating pasta and less time with his couch surfing brother. Whether or not he was aware of the abuse of his credit card was yet to be seen. Both of the Italians had been invited, but one was preparing pasta for a German and the other had apparently tagged along to shout verbal abuse and protect his brother's innocence. Canada had a planned trip to visit Cuba that interfered with the schedule and managed to silence his brother's whines about suffering through the transatlantic flight alone only after promising to bring back some sort of ice cream. But not "commie" ice cream, of course.

Day one had seen disaster at a small town restaurant where they had agreed to meet. Prussia had gotten belligerently drunk and vomited all over the owner, distracting Spain with a night of frantic damage control. France had apparently gotten bored while the duo was distracted and decided to bump inappropriately into England with every movement he made in attempt to bring forth his blushed sputtering. America had been the most jet lagged of the group and had enjoyed the ability to order alcohol without a fake (a fake of his fake really) ID a little too much. Needless to say, he had managed to snap the table clear in half when he slammed his hand against it to protest France's game, getting them finally kicked out and bringing "big brother's" attention straight to his not so subtle crush.

"Big brother" was now officially "cupid," and it was going about as well as one would expect.

Day two had been the dry business day. They had been shuttled from photo-op to hand shaking ceremony in a pair of limos. France had excitedly shoved England into the first limo behind America before bolting off to sit with the others in the second. That had done nothing but cause England to complain about the wrinkles in his suit the rest of the day and kill any potential conversation that did not revolve around the immaturity of Frenchmen.

They weren't talking about the Splinter Incident.

Day three had been no better so far. While there were no ceremonies for them to be dragged along to, they had been assigned a schedule for sightseeing with an eye for time at each monument that led America to assume Japan had had some hand in the planning. As they were left with limited breaks for conversation, France had done more of his grope/push/shove action to keep the two of them pressed together for every photograph. All that had managed to do was make England more blustery than usual and America resort to his "word-vomit" brand of nervousness.

_"So did you watch the Romans invade this place too, old man?"_

_"Fuck off."_

Sensing his guests were less than thrilled with their day so far, Spain had suggested a night drinking. He pulled them along down a few winding streets from their hotel to a club apparently known for being a place to spot wealthy footballers and young old-money. America had danced for bit with Spain in the center of the floor but found France's leers distracting and had excused himself to the side. With Prussia flirting with his brunettes, America had wandered over to the surly Brit on the white plastic couch in the corner.

He felt a jab to his side and turned to see that the other had apparently attempted to say something to him. England flicked his nail against the glass in America's hand and he could feel it ring more than hear it.

"That will taste like piss if you let the ice melt anymore," he added, raising his voice in turn.

Nodding in affirmation, America dumped half the glass into his mouth, enjoying the sweetness while using the excuse to pause and think of something to say.

It didn't work.

"Um..."

"What?"

"Nothing, thanks," _fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck was that?_

"You certainly make for charming company."

"What?"

"Nothing, thanks," England added in a feigned accent, making America blush and return to his watery drink.

This pause was marginally more successful.

"What are you doing after this?"

"Are you resorting to bland pick-up lines now?"

"No! After all this. After this conference-slash-nation-bonding thing."

"This and that. I've more meetings on EU regulations impacting immigration and the like. You?"

"Same as the past few years really, budget and healthcare stuff."

"Important 'stuff,' I suppose."

"I suppose," America returned to fidgeting, pushing his glasses up his nose to distract himself from the fact that they were leaning in close to reduce the shouting.

"Did you want another drink?" he tilted his head towards the empty gin glass on the table.

"Trying to get me drunk? No, two is fine. That one tasted a bit...off? Given the amount of alcohol in these it hardly counts as one drink but I'd rather not bankrupt Germany."

"Ah, true. I think this was watery enough before the ice melted that I wouldn't've noticed a difference."

He decided to ignore the first comment.

England huffed and plopped his head against America's shoulder, turning his face up to his ear to be heard over the music, "I suppose you're going to stop at two as well."

"What?"

_"_You're not allowed to move now, I'm comfortable."

America forced out another laugh and contemplated running to the bathroom to ask his brother for help. He hadn't been particularly helpful with the splinter but America had realized he could feel England's breath on his neck and really wanted an excuse to move before he did something stupid. He wiggled slightly in the seat, causing the sofa to squeak and only making England shift his face closer to his neck.

After a few rather awkward _but totally awesome_ occurrences, the two had developed an unspoken agreement to never act on the tension that France so often loved to bring up. The last (not counting the Splinter Incident) had been a rather soft kiss on his cheek on New Year's in 1990. After several decades of nothing happening, that had made his stomach so fluttery his champagne almost came back up and his palms so sweaty that he had dropped the empty glass and killed the moment.

"Ah..." America thought he heard the beginnings of a catcall from somewhere behind them towards the bar but it cut off abruptly with an _oof._

"This is far better than all the manhandling I've suffered through these past few days."

"If you're talking about the limo again I was totally trying to help."

"I know, we've been over this, love."

_Hng._

After having gone from being as close as family, to enemies, to "I don't care what he's doing on his side of the ocean so don't tell me about it," to reluctant allies and finally usually friends, they had both decided independently that their current relationship was not worth risking on something that would eventually pass. Sure it had been a few decades (or more) but America liked to think optimistically and, if he was being honest with himself, he wasn't willing to lose the one constant in his life over something he couldn't be sure wasn't fleeting.

He decided to go with his usual plan of action when things got weird: talking until the situation got less awkward or the other got too annoyed and left.

"So...are you having a nice time?"

England laughed and pressed his nose into the collar of America's shirt.

_So much for that plan._

"Have you been speaking to the Frog?"

"What? No? He's a dick and I'm still mad at him."

"Ha...never mind then, pet. What did he call it? _Une soirée romantic?_"

"...Do you have a flask hidden somewhere? You're speaking French and I don't think you want to have a romantic night with France."

_You'd better not want a romantic night with France._

America was sweating and regretting leaving the relative safety of the bar. Trying to learn from his mistakes, he leaned over slightly to place his empty glass on the table beside them. England seemed to take advantage of the movement, however, and slid closer so that their legs touched.

"Did you want to try again, love?"

The other's lips were close enough to his neck that he could feel them ghosting over his skin, not quite touching but near enough that the words could still be felt on his breath. America pinched the skin above his knee to keep himself from giggling nervously.

"Um...what?"

"Like he said. We're here to have a nice time, right?"

"Right..."

"So we could have a nice time together, right?"

"Yeah, that's why Spain took us here? You definitely have a flask somewhere. Is that why you spent so much time in your suite before we left? I thought you were trying to get your hair flat for once."

"Shut up," England had shifted his face close enough that America could feel his eyelashes brushing against his cheek. "I don't have a flask."

"Well I guess your hair is a little smother than normal..."

England was running his fingers over the back of America's hand that still rested above his knee, alternating between gentle skin on skin with his fingertips and the occasional catch of his nail. America stared at his empty glass on the table, trying to decide between pretending he couldn't feel the finger spinning over his skin or pretending they weren't in public.

"Together though," England interrupted before he could come to a decision. "How is...your hand?"

"Ah, haha. Better, thanks."

England lifted his head and leaned back, grabbing America's hand in his and pulling it towards his face for inspection.

"Not pink," he mumbled in apparent confusion.

"...what?"

"It's not pink anymore," he was staring fixedly at the base of his thumb where the splinter had once been.

"Um, yeah, you fixed it. Seriously, are you okay?"

"My tongue feels strange."

"_What?_"

"Thick. Feels thick. Hard to talk. I think... I think that tasted a bit off. Like all gin?"

"All gin?" _Shit._

"Right. Righto? Right. The gin was good."

_Shit._

"I knew it," England jabbed an accusatory finger at America's chest, twisting forward to do so as his other hand was still clutching America's "not pink" one. "You were trying to get me drunk. I knew it. Naughty."

"If you knew it tasted like all gin why did you drink it?!"

England laughed happily and fell forward, face-first into his chest, pinning their clasped hands between them.

"The gin was good? Not nervous anymore too," he spoke into America's shirt.

"Great," America sighed.

_But now I'm doubly nervous._

He patted the back of England's head with his free hand, eliciting what sounded suspiciously like a muffled giggle. America knew he should probably be more annoyed, but he was honestly thankful England had stopped at "happy drunk" before he managed to get to his usual level of "angry ranting drunk," or worse "sad nostalgic drunk." Figuring no one else could see it anyway, he gently squeezed England's hand that remained stuck between them with his own and smiled when he felt the other return the gesture.

"You're a dick too, you know," he told the messy blond hair.

"Ha, if you want we can -"

"Don't finish that sentence. You'll regret it when you're sober."

"Lovely, dear. Not pink because I kissed it better."

America allowed himself the nervous giggle he'd been holding in at that, turning his head when he saw Spain pushing his way through the crowds towards them as quickly as he could.

"Don't let him drink all of that, _América!_ She made a mistake, it's straight gin!"

"Too late, dude."

"Oh," Spain rubbed at the back of his neck as he stared at the empty glasses. "Are you going to take him back to the hotel? Do you want me to take him?"

"I'll take him. I wasn't expecting -"

"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition," England mumbled into his chest, only loud enough for America to hear.

"Christ you're drunk," he patted absentmindedly at the back of his head again. "I wasn't expecting to stay too late. I kinda...two days ago, you know... Thought I should try not to do that again?"

"I would appreciate that...Oh, I told her to make the drinks a bit stronger than usual. I guess it didn't work out?"

"Um, no. Guess not."

"_I liked it,_" England sang.

America tugged lightly at his ear while Spain continued.

"Did you want me to call a car around now? They'll drop you off at the hotel."

Still with his face pressed into the other's shirt, England shook his head.

"No, room still spinning."

"Ah, give us an hour and I'll drag him back. We're not far. The fresh air won't hurt."

"Okay," he smiled broadly. "I'll be back by the bar if you need me. Someone needs to keep an eye on Prussia so he doesn't repeat the first night either."

"Good luck!"

America couldn't reach his phone with the way England was sitting on him so he decided to return to people watching. It was probably shortly after midnight by then, early enough that most of the people around them were still coordinated enough to dance on the floor below. Prussia and France had themselves returned to dancing, bringing the brunettes with them, while Spain leaned against the bar smiling and texting who he assumed was Romano.

England had threaded the fingers of his free hand around America's dog tags and pulled them out of his shirt. He was tugging on them lazily.

"Hey, you. Did you want something down there?"

"Churros."

"Right now? I don't think they have them here."

"Tomorrow," England shook on the tags so they jingled. "We'll get churros and dip them in hot chocolate."

"Okay," he laughed. "Tomorrow we'll eat churros together."

"With hot chocolate."

"Yeah, with hot chocolate."

"Good."

"Did you want to bring the others?"

England picked his head up at that and frowned at him. He seemed to be trying to stare at America's mouth but was having trouble focusing.

"No. I want to watch you eat."

He released the dog tags in favor of placing his hand on the side of America's face, thumb at the corner of his mouth as if to steady him. Leaning in close, he seemed to be trying to inspect his mouth with the same intensity he had been giving his hand earlier. America bit on his lower lip.

"Haha, you're a really grabby drunk aren't you?" he mumbled.

_Please be too drunk to remember you did this in the morning. _

"Tomorrow. Promise?"

"Promise. You're paying because you're being awkward and you're lucky the others are too distracted to be watching right now."

He was still holding England's other hand and squeezed it again, trying to get his attention. It didn't seem to work. England instead tucked his legs under himself and shifted so he was sitting in his lap. America could feel his entire face heating up with a blush and looked around the room frantically to make sure the others were still too distracted to notice.

_Snap out of it, what the hell are you doing?_

"Pink," he was running his thumb along the younger's lower lip, catching slightly with each pass along his still exposed teeth. "I don't know if it would be less pink though."

"Haha, yeah," he swallowed firmly as the other slid his hand further up his face. "But you know, in a club? Way tacky. We're like, on plastic furniture here. Not right at all. Bad atmosphere. You're drunk as hell right? Not going to remember this in the morning? Please don't remember this in the morning. It's embarrassing enough that'll I'll be stuck with a boner all night and remember this in the morning. Don't need you being weird during breakfast too. This couch is totally plastic, and that would be unheroic and unromantic and it's dorky but I like romantic with - you know but you're going to be weird, I just know it."

"The sofa in my hotel suite is made of actual leather," England pressed his finger tips against the frames of his glasses before sliding them off and folding them. He tucked them gently into America's pocket.

"Plus we're on vacation, dearest. We're supposed to have a nice time. I asked France who you were texting about with Canada yesterday and he said it wasn't Japan but that I should go for it anyway. I shouldn't have asked...that was rude."

_Shit, shit, shit. _

"Um...it's cool. We're friends, right? Let's go back. It's too loud in here."

_Let's get out of here before France sees us and says something because I wasn't kidding about the boner._

He sat up abruptly, catching England before he could fall onto the table in front of them and tugged on his hand firmly, pulling him towards the door.

"Did you two want that car?" Spain waved his arm in their direction and shouted from the bar, apparently having noticed England's drunken flailing.

"Nah! We're good," he was still pulling and walking as quickly as he could while dragged down by the other and working his way through the crowds. "Fresh air, remember! Thanks, Spain!"

He definitely heard a catcall behind them that time as he jammed the glasses back on his face.

* * *

He had regretted passing on the car almost immediately. The walk had been less than ten minutes sober, but now he was dragging a drunken Englishman who had gotten drowsy the moment they had left the noise of the club. A drunken Englishman who had forgotten his own behavior and grumbled about "public indecency" whenever America tried to simply carry him back to the hotel. Over a half hour later, he had successfully pulled him stumbling behind him through the lobby and up the elevator.

Figuring the hallway was private enough, he scooped the other up into his arms rather than going through the hassle of dragging him any further. Nearly asleep, England hit his hands halfheartedly against America's chest a few times to protest for decency's sake but quickly gave up in favor of swinging his feet once he realized he had ended up with the better end of the deal.

"End of the hall, driver," he mumbled.

"Sure. You'd better tip me after this if you're calling me that."

"I promised you churros?"

"Awesome."

England fidgeted, pulling his wallet out of his pocket to grab his room key.

"You won't get lost on your way back?"

"Probably not. I'm right next door and our sitting room thingies have an adjoining door."

"Convenient."

He paused in front of the other's door, waiting for him to find his key.

"You'd better not have lost the stupid thing. I'm not walking back down there to ask the desk for another.

"No. Not that bad about losing things..."

"Yeah, actually you are. Give me that."

He tried to get the other to stand up, but when set him down he slid down the wall and sat on the floor instead.

"Tired, close enough."

"No, we're really not. Spain will be pissed if he finds you here drooling on the floor."

"...don't drool."

"Sure you don't."

He could feel himself blushing and dug through the other's wallet with as much urgency as he could manage while exhausted and embarrassed to be going through the other's things.

"Why the hell do you have two Oyster cards? You only need one for yourself if you're taking the Tube."

"Yours. Yours has the chipped corner. Left it on my kitchen table last time you visited and we took it to Covent Garden."

He was pretty sure he'd been blushing all night at this point.

"Ah, thanks. I'll...take this one back then."

He found the key card tucked behind a series of folded receipts and a note which read "_first aid kit?_" in England's familiar cursive. After three tries, he managed to get the card through the slot in the right direction earning himself a happily blinking green light and the electronic whirl of the door unlocking.

"Up we go, old man," he righted the other back onto his feet while using one of his own to balance the door open. Walking him inside, he flicked on all the lights he could find and directed him to the bathroom.

"Not an old man."

"Right. Do your thing to get ready for bed. Don't fall into anything. I'll be right back."

America jogged back through the sitting room and (after making sure the door on the opposite side of the room connecting to France's rooms was still firmly locked) through the "convenient" connecting door to his own. He went through his own tooth brushing and clothes changing routine as quickly as possible to make sure the other really hadn't fallen in or broken anything. England had apparently successfully completed his own tasks and was waiting on the other side of the door when he returned.

"You came back?"

"Yeah? I said I would?" He laughed lightly and put his hand on the other's lower back, steering him towards his bedroom and turning the lights back off along the way. "I wasn't going to waste all that time dragging your ass back to leave you asleep on the bathroom floor."

"I'm feeling better. Just mostly tired now."

"You sure?"

England hummed lightly in response but allowed the other to lead him anyway, still clearly a little wobbly on his feet.

"Almost, not quite a straight line there, dude."

"Shut it."

"Be nice. You still owe me churros."

It was England's turn to blush at that as he rolled into bed. America turned out the last of the lights and leaned over to poke at his forehead teasingly before he covered his face with the comforter. Their floor was high enough up that the city lights below settled to a soft glow, painting the room in comforting warm hues.

"Did you need water or anything? Not going to puke? I can get the trash can."

"No," he could hear him yawn quietly before continuing, "Room isn't spinning as much. Didn't have that much."

"Maybe for you. Anything though?"

England fidgeted slightly beneath the covers. He was still drunk enough to have lost most of his filters but was nearing the point in sobriety where he had consider the consequences of what he was about to say.

"Stay. Too far."

"What? No, it isn't," America turned to look through the archway leading to the sitting room. The door between their suites was still open and he could see through it to his unlit fireplace. "Our rooms are connected."

"...stay," England caught his fingers around the hem America's shirt and tugged, trying to pull him back. "Everyone else is still out. Everyone usually..."

_...leaves. That's why I didn't want you to get this drunk. You get into this mood and I can't fix it._

He eyed the desk chair and the floor before deciding he just didn't care about their rules at the moment. He nudged England with his hands until he rolled to the other side of the bed and crawled in next to him under the covers.

"I'll sit here until you fall asleep or something, alright?"

He felt England shift to face him and pat gently at his perpetual cowlick.

"Okay," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I - I totally owed you for the splinter, right? Besides, nobody likes sitting alone when they're sick. And hero's duty and stuff..."

"Lovely, dear."

England reached up and removed his glasses again, folding them with the same care as earlier before setting them on the bedside table behind him.

_Besides, you always take care of me so I want to do the same for you._

* * *

_Might be obvious by context but if I failed and it wasn't, Oyster cards are reloadable fare cards you can use to ride the London Tube. Most public transport systems have their own versions. _

_Q: How much did England drink? _

_A: Gin and Tonics come in highball glasses which are 8-12 US fluid ounces. A shot is typically 1.5 US fluid ounces. So you do that plus the "strong" G and T he had first, which would be 2 shots at your typical bar... He had roughly 7-10 shots in under two hours. We're leaning towards the 10 shots here because why not?_

_It's also pretty much impossible not to notice you're drinking straight gin as opposed to a G and T, so you can assume he knew what he was doing and was trying to drink away the awkwardness. _


End file.
